Misunderstood Christmas Traditions
by yamishun
Summary: America thinks nothing of it. It's a  stupid  holiday tradition that involves two people, a pair of lips pressing against each other, and a hemi-parasitic plant with glossy white berries hanging just above the two people involved.


**a/n:** I'm not at all sure about this now that I've typed it out. It just… morphed into something without my full consent! Well, I hope you guys will enjoy this… even if it would turn weird later on. I experimented with the tenses and I swear this'll be the last of that. I find it awkward more than anything. Anyway, I'd love a critique or an insightful review, just to know what the strong and weak points are in this fic.

**Disclaimer & warning:** Hetalia is not mine. This fan fiction celebrates boy x boy. Don't like? I advise you to press backspace or click on the back button. Also, there's FrUK just before the UKUS.

* * *

America laughs, silly and boisterous, it rings throughout the entire hall filled with guests and fellow countries. The guffaw surpasses the sounds of people chattering and the festive holiday music, yet the party continues as if it were a normal occurrence. Perhaps it was, for the countries present and for the people who personally know the personification of the United States of America. The guests simply enjoy their time while waiting for the clock to strike twelve, paying little attention to the superpower, unless of course, they were the ones conversing with the country.

Everyone was socializing—excluding England who slipped out of the hall to the back alley where he sat to have a drink while watching the snow fall from the clouds. He takes a long whiff of the distinct aroma of a good whisky, slightly pungent but by no means unpleasant. The glass was already nearing his open lips when America's obnoxious laugh reached his ears. England's ears twitched at the ungraceful sound. Shrugging, he brought the tip of the glass to his lips and titled it towards him, welcoming the initial sweetness that dries up until it finishes with hints of a sharp, peat-reek. Highland Park, he confirmed, downing in a second gulp.

Japan just arrives at that point. He looks for the host but finds it almost impossible to give an immediate greeting. People were crowding America. The small Asian man sighs in defeat and decides to look for England while he waits for the opportunity to properly greet the American. _'Odd,'_ he thinks to himself. There was no sign of England in the large room. He passes by several countries before he spots North Italy raving about how the pasta this year is more delicious than the pasta served on the previous year to Germany. He bows politely at the two but moves to another direction, leaving his former allies to their so-called _discussion_. His feet drags him to the lesser crowded area, away from the many Santa Claus of different shapes and sizes until he stops a few feet from the cushion France comfortably sits on, a woman clinging blissfully in each arm. The Frenchman smiles at Japan. A smile that sent chills down the latter's spine and Goosebumps on the pale skin.

"Ah, _Japon_! It is good to see you've finally arrived! Please, sit!" beckons the older nation to a free seat to his left with his hand.

Japan hesitates but steps towards the seat. His eyes dart from left to right, looking for a way to excuse himself without appearing offensive. "Please excuse me, _Furansu-san_. I-I have to give my greetings to _Amerika-san._" He half-runs towards America's direction when he saw that the crowd was already thinning out considerably. He hears a familiar laugh as he nears his destination. "Yeah, my boss tends to—Oh, hey, Japan!" He bows to the recognition and timidly speaks up.

"Pardon my intrusion, _Amerika-san_, I'd like to thank you for inviting me to your party even if I am not a Christian country."

America pats him on the back and laughs. "Aww, shucks! No need to go all formal on me now! We're friends after all!" Japan nods at this, feeling embarrassment creeping from the pits of his stomach straight up his cheeks. The conversation resumes keeps his eyes on the ground, idly fiddling his fingers as a subtle attempt to express a concern in his mind. "_Ano…_"

"Hmm? Anything on your mind, Japan?" America asks curiously.

"By any chance, is _Igirisu-san_ here tonight? I would like to give him my greetings but I have not seen him yet."

"Huh? The old man? He's probably out the back being all grumpy and antisocial like always."

"Oh," Japan feels perturbed with the casual answer. He knows America and England have been '_acquaintances'_ long before he knew any of them. But he also knows what lies beyond the Briton's tough and loner façade. He opens his mouth to speak. Closes it after a second thought and keeps his opinion to himself. It would be stepping over the line if he comments on their relationship.

"If it is _Angleterre_ you seek, I believe I saw him go towards the direction of what I recall as the back exit." France was now standing a little behind Japan, arms looking so empty without ladies occupying each side. His eyes were on America while he spoke, blue eyes glinting—hinting on something. Japan feels the tension rising.

"I see," a pause, "thank you for your help, _Furansu-san_."

Japan bows to both France and America before he makes his way to the back. He finds England sitting on the porch with a half-empty glass of a bright mahogany colored liquid. He steps closer and lets the Briton be aware of his presence.

"_Igirisu-san,_"

"Japan."

The dark haired nation smiles slightly, "_*__Eto_… Merry Christmas."

England returns the gesture with one of his rare small smiles, "Happy Christmas."

The moment is destroyed when France joins the duo. He saunters past Japan and stands suspiciously close to England. The Briton eyes him warily, his muscles going tense at the sight of France's blue eyes. He leans away when he notices the ghost of a smile tugging on the Frenchman's lips. "What do you want, fro-"

America thinks nothing of it. It's a mere holiday tradition. A (stupid) holiday tradition that involves two people, a pair of lips pressing against each other, and a hemi-parasitic plant with glossy white berries hanging just above the two people involved. A kiss under a mistletoe. He frowns at the normalcy of the act. He sees France and England still connected by the lips. It makes him feel uncomfortable and the urge to pull the two apart gnaws at him. He resists, because breaking the kiss would make him look jealous more than anything. Heroes most certainly do not get jealous (especially when he's not in a relationship with either of the two parties).

France takes his sweet time savoring the kiss. It's one of the rare chances to have an excuse to kiss the feisty Brit since his days of piracy. He revels the feeling of excitement, knowing that he can get away doing this even with America's eyes on them. He sucks, hears the gasps, feels the slight opening of England's lips, and then nothing. France smiles at America. " _Excusez-moi_, I must have gotten, er, carried away."

* * *

"Why didn't you protest?" America asks in morbid curiosity as England downs his fourth glass of Highland Park scotch. The Englishman ignores him, pouring himself another glass. America's hand stops him from lifting it to his lips. He looks at him in annoyance, green clashing with blue. "Why should I bloody stop him? It's tradition."

America stares at him disbelieving, mouth agape. "B-but a kiss doesn't need to be _that_ long!" England snorts at this, not caring if snorting isn't appropriate for a gentleman to do. He reasons out that there's no prescription for the duration of a mistletoe kiss. America waves him off with a _'yeah, yeah, whatever, England'_ and stares—borderline glare—at France's location. "*Divvy," he mumbles more to himself than to his former charge.

As if he feels the intense glare on his person, France looks at America and saunters towards him. "Ah, *_mon ami_! I did not know it will bother you that much! If it makes you feel better, I will just burn this accursed berry to show you I mean nothing of it?" The words drain the color in America's face. He watches in horror as France moves to throw the mistletoe to the fireplace. He bolts and snatches it away with a nervous laugh. France merely smiles knowingly at him.

"N-no need to do that France!" he stutters, clutching the mistletoe hard in his hand.

"Very well~"

America sighs in relief and resumes to his seat beside England who eyes him curiously. "You stopped him." he says as the American sits down.

"Yeah, so?"

"Why?"

America pouts at the question and looks away before answering, "No reason." He then mumbles on about a country not knowing about his own traditions.

England smirks at this.

"You don't want me to end up marrying France." It was a statement. The superpower tries to deny this but England cups his chin with a hand and turns his head towards him. "W-what're you-" America manages to stutter out before the Briton's lips covered his.

England slips his lips between America's, pillowing the younger country's lower lip with his own, loving how makes a sound akin to a squeak when he purposely grazes his teeth on the fleshy fold in between his own. He lightly nibbles on it; lets it go, only to capture it again after a moment's breath. He pulls back and smirks at the dumbfounded expression on America's face. "Mistletoe." he calmly explains.

"W-Wha?"

England leans on the backrest of his chair while playing on the mistletoe in his hand. "Oh, by the way," he pauses to look America in the eye, "In some parts of England the Christmas mistletoe is _burned_ on the t_welfth night_ lest all the boys and girls who have kissed under it _never_ marry." He stands up and ruffles America's hair before leaving the party, still chuckling to himself even by the time he reaches the door.

_xx end xx_

* * *

**A/N:** I really hope you enjoyed reading! This fic wasn't planned at all! I was poking around deviantart and saw that "2 days left for the USxUK Christmas contest" blog post. I mean, why not, right? But of course I knew I wouldn't be able to finish it on time... not with all the weirdness going one while I typed this. On another note, I seriously... as in _seriously_ can_not_ write England! -cough- But I still enjoy a seme!England despite my fail -cough-

Anyway, America misunderstands the Christmas tradition. Instead of what England mentioned, he thought that if the mistletoe where two people kissed is burned, the two parties will someday get married or something like that. XD

*Eto... - It's used to open a sentence when you're not sure how to phrase the next words. It's more commonly used by females but I think it's quite all right for Japan to use it since he can be quite feminine despite his deep voice.

**Divvy - means idiot. Likely derived from "divot," meaning "clod." Calling someone a _divvy_ is pretty tame, much on a par with telling them they are a "dimwit."

**Mon ami - means "my friend" in French. xD

I belatedly noticed that it's fragmented. Japan wasn't supposed to have a big role in this but practically wrote himself into the story. XD

Lastly, Merry Christmas everyone! Enjoy the holidays! Petrified078 needs to be specially mentioned since she, like me, acknowledges that England is the seme in this pair! -evil wicked grin-


End file.
